


The Unknown Gypsy Girl

by some_mighty_fine_print



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Dealing with Adversity, Developing Relationship, Escape, F/M, France (Country), French Gypsies, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentions of Murder, Paris (City), Puppet (HoND), Resilience, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_mighty_fine_print/pseuds/some_mighty_fine_print
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young girl, no more than seventeen, her face and arms badly bruised as if beaten, her clothes ragged, laying slumped against the wall near the entrance to a side alley. Barely breathing, unconscious, but still obviously alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> Ello, Ello, and a good morrow to all! This is my first time on Archive, still figuring the in's and out's of it all :)  
>  Anywho, here's a HoND fic for you all to enjoy!

The first rays of sunshine found their way over the horizon and down onto the rooftops of Paris. Dawn had broken, but daylight brought with it a sad sight. A young girl, no more than seventeen, her face and arms badly bruised as if beaten, her clothes ragged, laying slumped against the wall near the entrance to a side alley. Barely breathing, unconscious, but still very much alive. It seemed as if she’d collapsed from sheer exhaustion – had she been trying to escape something? Someone? The people of Paris would take one look at her and knew she wasn’t from their city. She didn’t come from here. She didn’t belong here. Too young to be a beggar and too fair to be thought a gypsy. She had no place in their society, they thought. She didn’t belong. So they ignored her. The law abiding citizens of Paris looked once in curiosity, then walked past with barely a backwards glance of concern for the poor girl. She was left as if unseen.

But the gypsies saw her, bruised and virtually lifeless, curled in the corner at the entrance to the alleyway. They brought a cart and lifted her gently up into it. People turned to watch the act of kindness with detached expressions, before going about their business. Clopin sat in the back of the horse drawn cart, cradling the young woman in his arms, trying to keep her warm. She stirred slightly as he brushed a stray lock of dark, curled hair from her sleeping face. Clopin smiled and hushed her soothingly.

“Hush little one, you are safe with us… you are safe with us.” Clopin whispered, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders as the nameless girl lay, unconscious, in his arms.

*     *     *

Clopin watched the young woman as she slept. She was incredibly quiet for the most part, he could barely hear her breathing, but she would cry out occasionally, as if in pain or fear. Clopin and the others had brought her to the Court of Miracles two days ago, and she had not yet awoken. The gypsy medicine lady, Tal'is, feared she may not have the strength or the will to live anymore. Clopin saddened at the memory.

“Clopin.” Jacqueline said from the door of his coloured silk tent. “We found out who she is… and I do believe it was her wish to disappear.”

“Tell me.” Clopin replied as he went to talk outside with her.

The two spoke in hushed whispers, ever mindful of passers-by with keen ears.

*     *     *

Inside the silk tent, the young woman stirred in her sleep, frightened by dreams of that which she was escaping from. She awoke to the gentle light of a dimmed oil lamp which was situated across the room. Weak, from two days of lying unconscious, and dehydrated. She tried to sit up, wincing in pain as she did so. She heard hushed voices outside, and so strained to catch part of the conversation.

“Orphaned?”

“I’m afraid so, or will be. Her father’s said to have an appointment with the hangman’s noose, Tuesday week.”

“Poor girl. To watch someone beat those you love to death… to know you’ve got nowhere to go…nowhere you’d feel you’d belong…”

“Unimaginable.”

“They say the father did it.”

“They caught the father trying to dump the bodies of the mother and younger siblings.”

“Poor girl.”

“Father used to be a good bloke apparently…then he began drinking. He was English, her mother was a French gypsy before she married him, so you could say that… it’s in her blood to behave in this manner.”

“Do you think, perhaps, that she might consider staying here? With us?”

“We can offer her a place to stay, there’s no reason for her not to be accepted. With her gypsy heritage, I’d say she belongs here the same as you or I, Clopin.”

“Her name fits too. Kalla, quite literally, meaning, ‘fire of spirit’. She is quite the little fighter to have pulled through this far.”

That was enough for Kalla. They knew who she was. She looked about herself, standing up as she did so, searching for a way out. She could still hear parts of the conversation, now drawing to a close, outside.

“When that poor girl wakes up…”

“She’ll be frightened. And she’ll have every right to be. Waking up in a place that you don’t know how you got to is bad enough, but in light of recent events…”

“She’s not going to trust anyone. She has no ties here, no relationship with anyone in France.”

Kalla slipped out underneath the side of the silk tent as quietly as she could. But the swishing sound of the silk, however normally quiet, seemed almost deafening in this silence.

“Did you hear that?” one of the voices asked.

“Yes…” there was a soft sound, like the pulling back of a curtain, and then a gasp. “She’s gone.”

Kalla panicked. “We need to find her… soon.”

She ran. Fast as she could. In and out and in-between the many silk tents. Voices began to ring in the air around her. Others joined the search. Kalla saw a gap in the wall not far from where she was and made for it, slipping through quickly to the other side. Kalla looked up. She was in the catacombs beneath Paris. She’d recognise this tunnel system anywhere.

“Kalla!” a voice called. She turned around fearfully, discovering that the exotically accented voice belonged to a dark-‘ish’- skinned, gypsy man in purple garments. “Please, stop. Come back with me, allow me to explain…”

Kalla was too frightened, listening instead to her own erratic thoughts. She began to back away from this stranger who stood before her, hands facing towards her in a reassuring gesture, his eyes pleading with her to understand. She took another step back from the man and stumbled slightly. When he stepped closer to catch her, Kalla turned on her heel and sprinted away, down one of the tunnels.

“Kalla!” He called after her, searching, concern touching his velvet voice.

“Please, little one, we won’t hurt you.” Another voice called from a little closer.

Kalla watched a light pass her hiding place then vanish. Believing them to have passed by, she ventured out. She heard soft footfalls to her right and looked up. He was standing there, the man with the tea-brown skin.

“Kalla… please… don’t run…” he took a tentative step towards her, his hand outstretched reassuringly, and once again she panicked, running down another tunnel.

“Down here!” someone called.

“Don’t frighten her!” another voice rang out.

Kalla continued to run, turning down different tunnels until, reaching a dead end; she collapsed in a crying and terrified heap. After that it didn’t take long for the tea skinned man to find her. He came and sat down beside her. He wrapped his arms around Kalla and pulled her close, letting her cry into his shoulder.

*     *     *

Kalla sat, frightened and trembling in the corner of the tea-brown skinned man’s silk tent. He had brought her back here after finding her, leading her through a maze of tents and people to his tent. What was going to happen to her? Her mother had told her stories of things that were said to take place in the Court of Miracles, of how those who went in didn't necessarily come back out again. That was what had her cowering in a corner, crying silently, wondering if these moments might be her last.

The tea-skinned man entered the tent again and looked at her curiously, almost pityingly. For a moment Kalla couldn't find her voice, when she did it trembled.

"Please don't hurt me..." she whispered, tears streaming silently down her face.

The man's face became reassuring. "I wouldn't dream of it... please, don't be frightened. None here will harm you."

"How can I be sure?" Kalla asked, shrinking back into the tent wall more as he took a step forward.

"I give you my word as a gypsy... as one of those with whom you belong." he replied.

"I don't belong anywhere." Kalla mumbled, turning her face away from him.

"Everyone belongs somewhere." he smiled kindly as he sat down beside her.

She turned to face him again. "My name's Kalla... what's yours?"

His smile widened slightly, "Clopin Trouillefou, King of the Gypsies. And you, Mon chere, have been running for a rather long time. Not that I blame you, but most believe you to be dead."

"Good, that's how I want it. I wanted to vanish." Kalla's face was void of emotion as she said this, but there was a flash of something in her eyes as she looked away from Clopin. "What happens now?"

"Well, that is entirely up to you, my dear." Clopin explained. "You may, if you wish, remain here with us in the Court of Miracles. No one would ever find you here. Or, if it so pleases you, you may go."

There was a short silence as she thought over this new information. He was giving her a choice. She could go, or she could stay.

"I would love to stay... but..."

"But..." Clopin encouraged.

"I do not wish to get in anyone's way. I've seen the kinds of things you do in performances... I have no special talent like that. You make people happy, make them laugh..." Kalla smiled at the memory, from not three days before, of him entertaining a group of small children with puppets in a touring caravan. "I have no gift with which I could benefit anyone."

"I beg to differ," Clopin smirked, eyeing her figure appreciatively. "You have a great talent, hidden though it may be. It lies behind those emerald eyes of yours. We shall find it...together."


	2. Information

Clopin watched Kalla from a distance as she sat with several of the gypsy children. She had been teaching them to read and write which seemed, for her, an easy enough task. She looked up, from answering a child's question, directly into Clopin's eyes. Kalla smiled at him and he saw her eyes begin to sparkle. They had not done so since he'd first seen her, but things were now righting themselves.

Clopin watched as the children left after their lesson, one by one, until Kalla was left by herself. It was at this time each day that she leant back and closed her eyes for a few minutes until she would go to look after the children of the gypsies who would be going on a raid though the city of Paris that night.

Each night he would stay and watch over her, never quite sure what it was he was looking for. He sighed, looking down. Then, he heard it. A soft, sweet voice carried on the air to him. Clopin looked up to discover that the angelic voice was actually Kalla's. A grin spread across his face from ear to ear. This was her gift.

Clopin slipped towards her silently, watching to make sure her eyes were still closed. As he drew closer, her voice became louder, now he could hear the words.

“Les rêves des amoureux sont comme le bon vin   
Ils donnent de la joie ou bien du chagrin   
Affaibli par la faim je suis malheureux   
Volant en chemin tout ce que je peux   
Car rien n'est gratuit dans la vie.

Éspoire est un plât bien trop vite consommé   
À sauter les repas je suis habitué   
Un voleur, solitaire, est triste à nourrir   
À nous, je suis amer, je veux réussir   
Car rien n'est gratuit dans la vie.

Jamais on ne redira que la course aux étoiles, ça n'est pas pour moi   
Laisser moi vous émerveillez, prendre mon envol

Et sortez les bouteilles, finis les ennuis   
Je dresse la table, demain nouvelle vie   
Je suis heureux a l'idée de ce nouveau destin   
Une vie à me cacher, et puis libre enfin   
Le festin est sur mon chemin   
Une vie à me cacher et puis libre enfin   
Le festin est sur mon chemin.”

Her voice, sweet as an angel’s chorus, wound through the dips and curves of the French song. She was English, so her mother must have taught her French before she’d been killed. That made sense, as her mother had been a Parisian Gypsy, so there was no other logical explanation for Kalla’s perfect French.

As her song wound to a close, she sighed and opened her eyes.

***

Kalla sighed softly as she sang the last note of the French song her mother had taught her. She had been reminiscing more and more about her family. She shuddered at the horrific memories she had of her father.

_‘They’re_ all _dead now.’_ Kalla thought sadly to herself. _‘Even my father. I by no means want him alive after what he did to all of us, but… he was my father and, for a time, he loved and cherished us all.’_ Kalla opened her eyes and wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. _‘What have I got to live for now? A love that cannot be returned? No place to call home? I have nothing but my existence and the clothes on my back. Is that enough?’_

“Kalla!” Clopin called loudly, close by, making Kalla jump and scramble to right herself and put on a smile before he guessed her thoughts.

“H-hello, Clopin…” Kalla stammered, her cheeks heating as she gazed up at him nervously. “I didn’t think you were back yet.” Clopin frowned down at her slightly, and Kalla’s gaze widened slightly, but she continued smiling sweetly up at him. _‘He knows… oh, God, please no!’_

“You never told me you could sing like that, Kalla.” Clopin raised a curious eyebrow at her as he flopped down on the cushions beside her. “Your voice is… _beautiful_.”

Kalla felt herself go a shade darker again. “Th-Thankyou, Clopin… that’s so sweet of you to say. But you exaggerate, I do not sing _that_ beautifully, really.”

“You do!” He exclaimed as he lay on his side and propped his head up with his hand to look at her properly again. “I heard you, just now!” he stopped and she heard someone else approaching. When he continued, his voice was low and rich like velvet. “You captivate me like no other…”

Her breath caught in her throat. Their eyes locked and something wild and longing sparked between them. But she hesitated too long, and that approaching someone came around the corner of the nearest tent. It was Jacqueline, the Gypsy healer who had attended her when Kalla had first been brought to ‘The Court of Miracles’.

“Clopin,” she spoke softly and quickly. “It’s Esmeralda… she’s back!”


	3. This Shouldn’t Be A Plan…

“Rest easy now, child,” Jacqueline murmured to an exhausted and anxious Esmeralda. “Judge Frollo cannot get to you here.”

“But he will never stop searching. As soon as he learns of my escape…” Esmeralda shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.

In an attempt to ease her anxiety, Kalla sat beside her and pulled her into a comforting hug. She looked up at Jacqueline and Clopin, frightened herself. “Have they ever come close to finding this haven before?”

“No, never.” Jacqueline stated bluntly and folded her arms.

“But if they ever caught even _one_ of us, who knows for how long this place would _remain_ a safe haven for all of us.” Esmeralda shuddered again. “And the way he looked at me…”

“If he ever comes _close_ to touching anyone here, I’ll kill him!” Clopin snarled angrily, grinning evilly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Don’t say that.” Kalla murmured, sadness and terror shining within the depths of her eyes.

“Do not tell me what we should say about Judge Claude Frollo.” Jacqueline snapped at Kalla, making both she and Esmeralda shrink back. “You know nothing of what he has done to out men, and what worse things he _would_ do to our women if he got his hands on any of them!”

“She knows that!” Esmeralda cried loudly in an attempt to quell the bickering. “Frollo’s guards were the reason we found her half beaten to death on the street! And all because she wouldn’t give herself to one of his men!”

“Almost right.” Kalla’s face had drained of all colour at the memory, but she managed a small smile when Clopin and the others all looked at her in shock. “It was He, and not His guards, that I would not surrender myself to…”

“You never said…” Jacqueline looked at her first in horror then in admiration. “That took guts. Standing up to Frollo…and then carrying that weight by yourself all this time…”

“I’m fine. I survived that…incident,” Kalla looked to Esmeralda. “I found a safe haven here…I’m just wondering how exactly you found that out…”

“I heard the guards posted outside the Cathedral talking and laughing about it.” Esmeralda shuddered then smirked. “They said they couldn’t make you scream for mercy.”

Kalla effected a satisfied smile and shrugged, “They weren’t worth my time.” She looked down. “How did you get out of the Cathedral? There were guards at every door…”

“You should know enough of Parisian gypsies by now to know how difficult we are to catch and keep.” Esmeralda winked.

“True… but not nearly enough about this Frollo character.” Kalla frowned at the floor.

“Judge Claude Frollo is a power hungry and perverted old man who has been trying to eradicate our kind from the streets of Paris for decades. He plays at being a holy man whilst he kills those of our men he captures and defiles our women.” Jacqueline explained, the passion from her anger dissipated. She sat, weary from her days work, and continued her explanation. “He sees corruption everywhere, except within of course.”

***

“He has our people locked up in that hell hole he has the nerve to call the Palace of Justice! We must go and get them back!” Esmeralda argued with Clopin frantically. “For Christ’s sake, Clopin! There are children in there!”

“No! He’s searching for us more now than ever, we must remain hidden!” Clopin took hold of her shoulders roughly. “Do you know what will happen to you if he finds you?!”

“I don’t care!” Esmeralda cried.

“I do!” Clopin growled.

“I won’t let him hurt innocent children!” Esmeralda shoved Clopin away.

“I quite agree.” Kalla said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, as she leant against the wall of Clopin’s caravan, serene as a statue. “I have an idea of how to trick the guards and rescue our captured comrades.”

Clopin smirked. “ _Our?_ ”

Kalla grinned wickedly back, “Yes… _our_ …”

***

The gypsy troop slipped silently under the docks near Notre Dame as they made their way towards the Palace of Justice. As they gazed up at the gothic monstrosity before them, each shuddered. They had all heard the stories of what went on in the Palace of Justice, and they weren’t willing to risk the same happening to them. One of the gypsies stepped forwards but Kalla swiftly pulled him back, holding a finger to her lips and pointing to the approaching guards.

Kalla pulled off her cloak to reveal Esmeralda’s dress, her hair wisping about her face in the breeze. She looked up at Clopin who seemed just as anxious as she. Kalla knew she may very well be caught, but she would have helped in a small way, so she didn’t really care.

“Be careful!” Clopin whispered urgently, taking her hand gently in his.

Kalla nodded silently. Then, without warning, she threw he arms around Clopin’s neck and kissed him passionately. “For if I don’t make it back…” she murmured, tracing the outline of his mask. “Wish me luck!”

She smiled mischievously and winked as she dashed out into the night.

***

“Come on men!” a guard behind her yelled. “That gypsy girl is under arrest by order of Minister Frollo!”

“Get her!”

Kalla pulled a face at the guards and sprinted off away from the Palace of Justice. _‘So…the disguise works…or else they’re_ really _stupid!’_

Her footfalls echoed off the stone of the surrounding buildings along with the shouts of the guards behind her. She side-stepped a bread cart and laughed as she looked over her shoulder and saw the whole group of guards crash straight into it. She looked ahead again and saw more guards running towards her. She ducked down one alley, then another, and another pushing over carts and barrels behind her as she found them. Their shouts were growing closer and her heart beat ever more frantically. She had to lose them…soon!

Kalla turned right up several shallow steps and jumped a gate. Her path quickly took her to the town square. Guards came out of everywhere and nowhere as her head snapped back and forth assessing her options.

“Don’t let her claim sanctuary again!” a guard yelled and several others formed a line in front of the Cathedral to her left.

_‘Wasn’t planning on it.’_ Kalla smiled and winked at the nearest guard. It was one of the men who had beaten her senseless the night before Clopin had found her. “Hey boys…care to have a little fun?”

“Whore!”

“Heretic!”

“Witch!”

“Not the response I was hoping for…” Kalla murmured, smiling wickedly as one of the guards threw his spear towards her. “Terrible shot.” Kalla smirked as she caught it and thrust the head into the ground.

Several of the guards charged her then. She waited until they were close enough, then lifted and spun herself around the spear, as if it were a sturdy pole, kicking each of them in the head, knocking them down. As she settled on the ground once more, Kalla pulled the spear back and used it to catapult herself onto the heads of two guards, running along the helmeted heads of the others like stepping stones, jumping up onto a building, and climbing onto the rooftops of Paris…slipping away into the darkness and watching as they went to search for her further down the direction she had gone. This was exactly the place they needed to be for this little escapade to work.

Pleased with her work, Kalla slipped silently over the rooftops of Paris and into an open window, high above the city, and into the Palace of Justice…

***

Kalla tiptoed along the passageways and in and out of empty rooms with in the Palace of Justice, ever mindful that more guards were patrolling the prisoners cells.

As Kalla reached the bowels of the palace, she could hear Clopin’s voice ushering those previously captured to safety…and heavy, approaching footsteps. Kalla froze as she heard a scream and a gravelly voice.

“Not so fast, Gypsy!”

Kalla peaked round the corner. The prison guard was _huge_! But his head was uncovered. If only she could find something heavy to…

_‘Ah ha!’_ she thought triumphantly as she sighted a loose metal bar on the floor only a few steps behind the enormous guard. Carefully and quietly, she stole towards the guard and the metal bar, careful no one saw her movements. Silently she picked up the bar and lifted it high above her head. “Oi! Big boy!” she shouted and brought down the metal bar with a deafening _thunk_ across his head as he turned to face her. He fell, huge, limp and unmoving, face first, into the dirt of the floor. “This time it’s personal.” She looked up at Clopin who was staring at her with his mouth open and smiled seductively. “Miss me?”

A sound like the crushing of an iron gate flooded the passageway behind Kalla and she spun around, quick as lightening, to face whatever foe this hell hole had to offer next as listened intently both in front of and behind her.

“Quickly, down this passage, Raoul will show you the way.” Clopin was whispering frantically. “Hurry, children, hurry, everyone!”

“You there, seal off the area!” Kalla heard Frollo’s voice for only the second time in her life…but it was unmistakably him. “She will not escape me!”

Kalla looked back at Clopin desperately as the last captured gypsy was whisked away along the passageway to freedom. “Go, keep everyone safe!”

“Kalla-” Clopin began.

“GO!” Kalla yelled at the top of her lungs back at him. “I’ll buy you some time…but you need to go! NOW!”

Clopin hesitated, picked up the little girl next to him, and sprinted out of there. Kalla turned back around and raised the bar in her hands once more as the guards rounded the corner and came towards her.

The first guard was easy, taken down with one blow. She winded the second and twice walloped other guards between their legs. Kalla smiled, flung a cell door into the faces of four other guards, trapping their heads between the bars and used the same door to lift herself and kick two others on the face. She fought fiercely, but their numbers overwhelmed her as she began to tire.

Two guards took her roughly by the arms; dragging her forward, coming to a halt before Frollo. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched her head back. His triumphant, sadistic smile turned to rage at her clever trick.

Kalla sneered up at him. “Looking for someone?”

***

Frollo grinned evilly down at Kalla as she was held painfully tightly by two of his guards. He reached forward and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up.

“I did wonder where the little English rose disappeared to.” He leered down at her. Kalla straightened as much as she could and spit in his face. Laughing as he struck her and his enraged look. “Guards, tie the girl to the bed…arms and legs spread _wide_.”

Kalla’s eyes widened in fear, struggling fiercely against the guards strong hold. “No…No! NO!”

“The witch fears her souls cleansing.” Frollo sneered as the guards finished tying her down as specified, Kalla screaming at the top of her lungs. “Thankyou, gentlemen, I will now exercise the demon that now clings to her immortal soul. Leave now…and lock the door from the _outside_ when you go.”

The guards looked at each other, confused, but did as they were bid. After the door locked from outside, Frollo locked it from within and turned back to her, still struggling to get free of her bonds.

“You disgusting son of a-” Kalla spat, but he silenced her with a hand over her mouth.

“Uh, uh, uh,” Frollo hushed her, sickly cooing to her. “Be careful of what you say to a Minister.”

Kalla bit his hand and he cried out in agony before backhanding her, hard. “God sees what you do, Frollo! And he will cast you out of his kingdom, into hell!”

“Perhaps,” he sneered as he pulled her skirts up about her waist and the ends of his robes up about his hips and aligned himself. “But, right now, it’s just _you_ and _me_ …” He slipped a finger up inside her and paused. “Ah, a gypsy virgin…how _deliciously rare_ …”

He thrust forward, painfully hard, and her tortured scream flew through the Parisian night.

***

Guiding his people into the sewers and onwards towards the catacombs they called home, Clopin heard the screams of the men his people had left behind; heard them, and continued forward. But it was a particularly high-pitched scream, one that almost sounded like his name being wrenched agonisingly from someone's throat, that made him pause.

His head rotated slowly to look back the way they'd come, his hand grasping the cloth of one of his fellows, Raoul, shirt sleeve. the others all kept moving, but the two men froze, a single word passing between them:

"Kalla..."


	4. Saviours

Kalla had screamed herself hoarse. She now lay, tied to the bed still, blood between her thighs and bruises around her throat from where he’d half strangled her, tears silently spilling down her cheeks. Frollo had long since left. She had heard his voice echoing through the halls. He’d been shouting something about hellfire and Esmeralda, but Kalla had been unable to make out much of it in her traumatised state.

She slipped in and out of consciousness, reminded of when she’d been left to die in the street, and wished for her old saviour to find her once more.

Frantic whispers crept under the door to the room she was being kept in. “Quickly! In here!”

“No, this one!”

Kalla mustered all her strength and called as loudly as she could; but it still only managed to come out sounding like a harsh, scratchy whisper, “Help! Please, someone…help me!”

“Here, this one!” she recognised Raoul’s voice. “Hurry! Break it down!”

There were two loud thumps against the heavy wooden door then, with a creak and a groan, the wood split in the middle and then flew off its hinges into the room. Raoul, Esmeralda and Clopin all rushed into the room and gasped. Kalla knew the state she must have looked. More tears falling, she turned her face away from them, towards the wall.

“My God! What have they done to you?!” Clopin’s voice was so close, she couldn’t help it when he gently turned her face towards his. “We’re going to get you out of here, precious.”

Kalla’s voice caught in her throat a little. “Frollo…”

“Hush, my sweet,” Clopin soothed gently as he untied her hands and Raoul unbound her feet. “Don’t try to speak.”

“He…h-he…” Kalla broke down into uncontrollable sobs as Clopin pulled her up into his arms.

“Shhhh, Ma Cherie, Clopin is here.” He held her tightly for a moment. “We must go now…”

Kalla nodded and quieted her sobbing as best she could. Raoul led them all down into the bowels of the Palace of Justice, and through a hidden door which lead down into the catacombs below Paris. Clopin held a finger to his lips so that Kalla knew to keep quiet still as they made their way further into the maze of the Catacombs. After a short while, Esmeralda sighed and turned to Clopin, Raoul and Kalla.

“I’m going to bring as many of the others as I can to safety.” She stated firmly.

“Well, if you must, go by the Millers cottage…they said Frollo would be on his way there soon… I pray you get there before _he_ does.” Raoul’s gravelly, bear-like voice Kalla found oddly comforting.

Esmeralda nodded and disappeared up an old shaft as Kalla and the others continued on. Soon enough they were close to the Court of Miracles and Clopin stopped again for a moment.

“Raoul, gather the patrol and set yourselves up back along the tunnels a bit,” he held Kalla tightly. “If we are discovered, then we are done for…”

“Of course, my King.” Raoul turned, whistled, and several men disguised as skeletons appeared out of nowhere and began setting themselves up along the catacomb tunnel behind them.

Clopin lead Kalla back into the Court of Miracles and straight to his caravan. He wrapped her in a blanket and assured her he would return quickly with fresh clothes, water and cloth to clean her wounds, and Jacqueline the Healer. Kalla nodded and returned to looking at the floor, tears still cascading down her rosy cheeks.

True to his word, Clopin returned moments later with a clean dress and Jacqueline carrying a bowl of water, a cloth, and bandages. Kalla looked up at them both blankly, barely registering anything now that she knew she was safe.

Jacqueline looked at her bloodied clothes. “Alright, first things first, my dear, that dress has to go.”

Kalla shook her head, trembling. “N-n-no…”

“You’re injured, he attacked or tortured you-” Jacqueline reasoned cautiously, seeing Kalla was in shock.

“No…he didn’t attack me…or torture me…he…he…” Kalla couldn’t bear to say the words. Her sobs returned, causing her to tremble and quake.

Clopin’s face lit with realisation. “Good God…No!”

Jacqueline paled. “He didn’t…”

Kalla trembled as she nodded, clutching her shirt about herself and drawing her knees against her chest tightly. Clopin was the first to move. He picked Kalla up off the floor and pulled her onto his bed, cradling her comfortingly in his arms. She clung to him for dear life as he held her, tenderly stroking her hair and rubbing her back.

“Kalla…we need to clean you up…” Clopin whispered into her hair. “Now, I’ll go wait just outside whilst Jacqueline helps you to change your dress and washes the blood away…okay, Cherie?”

“And then we’ll be _right back_.” Puppet finished, tapping her playfully on the nose.

Kalla sniffed and held onto Clopin tighter for a moment before letting go. “O-okay…”

“Okay, I’ll be right outside…I’ll leave the door open a crack so I’ll hear if you call me.” Clopin placed her gently on the bed beside him then stood and walked out the door, Puppet waving a playful goodbye on their way out.

Jacqueline sat beside her and wrapped a reassuring arm around Kalla’s shoulders. “You’re safe now, child.” She murmured gently. “C’mon, let’s get you out of these ruined things.”

Kalla stood and let Jacqueline help her undress and wash her. When she was free of blood, Jacqueline dried her gently, looking up at Kalla in distress whenever she found a new, dark purple bruise somewhere.

“The good news is, there wasn’t _really_ that much _physical_ damage.” Jacqueline half smiled as she helped Kalla get into the fresh gold and purple dress. “There was a lot of blood, but don’t fret. You’ll be right as reign in a day or so…that happens to a lot of girls their…first…time…”

Kalla nodded dumbly, still crying silently. Jacqueline called Clopin back in, whispered something in his ear, looked back at Kalla, and left Clopin’s caravan.

He pulled Kalla back to his bed, pausing to tug back the covers before helping her get in under the covers. He turned to put out the lantern but she tugged lightly on his sleeve to stop him. With a gentle, understanding smile, he crawled under the covers with her and held her close, letting her cry herself to sleep in his warm embrace.

“You are safe now, Cherie,” he murmured as he kissed her hair.

“It hurt so _much_ , Clopin,” she sobbed into his chest and he held her tighter. “How could anything hurt _that much_?!”

“It’s not usually like that, Cherie…” Clopin froze as he realised what he’d just said.

But she didn’t shy away from him or take offence. She looked up at him through bleary, tear-filled eyes. “It’s not?”

“No,” Clopin ran his fingers lovingly through her soft, ebony hair. “It’s usually quiet…pleasurable…”

“Oh…” Kalla snuggled into his chest again, her sobs ebbing and tears finally drying. “And thank you…for rescuing me…”

“I will always rescue my people…but, more importantly, I will always rescue the woman I _love_.”

Kalla nestled into the warmth of his embrace, finally feeling herself drifting off to sleep. “I love you too, Clopin…”

Clopin tightened his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “Sleep now, amore, you are safe with me.”

And she did.


End file.
